Page 9 of The Reluctant Billionaire

I wait.

‘We can do what we did this morning,’ he concedes.

‘And what was that?’

‘We gave them breakfast in a bag. It wasn’t ideal, but at least they got fed.’

‘Great!’ I say brightly. Apparently, my positivity is offensive, because it earns me a scowl.

‘As I said, it’s not ideal. The afternoons are more problematic because they won’t be able to hang out here after school and we can’t give them a hot meal.’

‘But we could give them a sandwich?’ I suggest. ‘For three days? Is that something you can get on board with so we can spend the time we need on the kitchen?’

He grimaces. ‘I suppose so.’

Well, fancy that. We have a compromise.

5

AIDE

We can’t waste any time if we’re to get this kitchen turned around in three days. I get the crew to work. In actual fact, having ten of us in the kitchen is impossible. There’s just not enough room. I content myself with the compromise of having the five people from Venus who actually know what they’re doing—aka the contractors—working on dismantling the old kitchen while I put the waste-of-space one—aka Carlotta—in the main hall with Gaz, Sylv and Judy. Khalid has bid us all a suave goodbye and gone back to the office under the apparent assumption that we’re in safe hands.

Good.

It’s better this way. Carlotta’s out of my hair, and she can focus on the less skilled task of taking down the wooden panels along the walls while Frank and I direct operations in here and Reggie, Venus’ electrician, gets to work disconnecting the appliances and the ancient plug sockets at a speed so impressive he’ll earn himself a slap on the back and possibly a pint this evening.

Best of all, I don’t have to see her. Don’t have to attempt not to do myself an injury because I’m distracted by her perfect fucking tits and not watching what I’m doing.AndI don’t have to listen to her presumably inane chatter the whole time, either.

Instead, I can work at a fair clip alongside the Venus guys, who all seem genuinely decent. Not that I’d expect an outfit like Venus to employ anyone sub-par, but they’re consummate professionals who keep their heads down and get on with the job. We stick on the radio and work in relative silence to the soundtrack of Magic’s jaunty pop tunes and even jauntier DJs.

She’ll be in good hands next door. Gaz is already smitten, that much is clear. She already has him calling herLotta.Stupid bastard. Judy will be charmed despite herself, and while Sylv doesn’t suffer fools, she’s generous-hearted, too. I’m sure they’ll all get on just fine, and I’m hoping that by the time Carlotta’s listened to what they have to tell her about the incredible work they do here, she’ll be more sympathetic to our plight.

At twelve-thirty, I’m idly considering breaking for lunch and taking people’s orders for the sandwich bar down the road when a certain someone pops her glossy head around the door and smiles prettily at us.

‘Wow! You’ve made amazing progress in here!’

I grunt in acknowledgement. We really have. Almost all the old cupboard units and appliances are now lying out in the street, ready for the skip, which should show up later. The electrics have all been disconnected, and we’ve made quick work of chipping off the tiled backsplash with its filthy grouting. In its place will be sheeted stainless steel—far more hygienic and easier to wipe down.

The replacement materials have been chosen not only for their ease of use but their ease of installation, given the time constraints we’re working under.

‘Anyway,’ she says blithely, ‘lunch is here.’

That gets my attention. I look up, allowing myself to take in the willowy silhouette of her body as she leans against the door frame. ‘How so?’

‘Oh, we always provide lunch on these jobs,’ she says. ‘It should have been in the brief.’

I won’t argue with that. ‘Lunchtime, folks,’ I say, downing tools and heading into the men’s loo to wash my hands.

Lunchwould have been better described as afeast. Fucking hell. There are huge cardboard trays on the table in the hall with far too much food from some fancy deli I’ve never heard of. Bagels cut in half, their colourful fillings on display. Same with the wraps. There’s chopped veg in little cartons. Tubs of hummus. Slices of grilled halloumi. Even some fucking sushi. Small bottles full of rainbow-coloured juices. I check out the printed menu card propped up beside one of the trays.

Falafel wrap with slaw and chipotle dressing.

Hard greens juice.

Smoked hummus with paprika and pine nuts.

Jesus Christ. It’s far too extravagant, and I can’t imagine how much food we could have bought for the kids with what Venus spends on catering for a single lunch. But I catch myself, because around me everyone is absolutely fucking delighted. Sylvie is poring over the menu card and discussing whether to go for a smoked salmon or a beetroot and avocado bagel first.

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